


Tumblr Ficlets III

by eden22



Series: Ficlets [3]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: F/M, M/M, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-01
Updated: 2016-05-08
Packaged: 2018-05-04 09:24:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 10,786
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5329019
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/eden22/pseuds/eden22
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Collected ficlets from my tumblr. All chapters labelled with pairing for easy searching.</p><p>[1] Painting their new house and arguing over colors turns into a playful war, lots of showering (Steve/Bucky/Natasha)</p><p>[2] i lost my asshole friends in this club and im kinda drunk and youre kinda gorgeous, please help me (Tony/Rhodey/Pepper)</p><p>[3] bird prince sam, knight bucky and very passionate elfling steve (Sam/Steve/Bucky)</p><p>[4] things you said that made me feel like shit (Steve/Bucky)</p><p>[5] things you said while we were driving (Laura/Natasha/Clint/Bucky)</p><p>[6] person A asks person B to dance with them, but person B can’t dance. So person A offers to teach them. (Steve/Bucky)</p><p>[7] birb prince sam, his favourite knight and elf celebrating winter solstice together for the first time (Sam/Steve/Bucky)</p><p>[8] retracing their old steps until they reach that one alley they secretly banged in at like 3am and Bucky remembering and being real smug about it (Steve/Bucky, Sam/Steve/Bucky)</p><p>[9] t'challa doesn't believe in fairytales, much less foreign ones (T'Challa/Bucky)</p><p>[10] bucky learning traditional Wakandan dishes and t'challa is super touched until he tastes it (T'Challa/Bucky)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Home Sweet Home (Steve/Bucky/Natasha)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> For prompt: Steve/Bukcy/Nat, painting their new house and arguing over colors turns into a playful war, lots of showering, and maybe some gunplay after if you do that?

“What the fuck is that?” Bucky looked down at the buckets of paint he had just set down on the drop cloth. 

“Paint,” he said. Natasha’s eye roll was almost audible. 

“No, I mean what the fuck is that colour?” Bucky looked between Natasha and the buckets. 

“Uh, that one’s peacock blue and the other one is acadia green.” 

“And why are they in the kitchen?”

“Because they’re the colours we’re painting the kitchen?” Natasha sighed, speaking slowly. 

“No Bucky, the kitchen is going to be red and yellow, not blue and green.”

“No,” he replied, equally patronizing, “it’s going to be blue and green.” 

“That is not what we discussed.”

“It’s not what you discussed.” 

“We all agreed!”

“Oh did we.” At this point, they were both more than half way to shouting, but both stopped abruptly, turning at the sound of someone banging more paint buckets against the frame of the door. Steve was hovering awkwardly in the doorway, two more buckets of paint hanging from his hands. Both Bucky and Natasha narrowed their eyes at him. 

“What colours are those Steve?” Natasha asked, voice dangerous. 

“Um,” he replied, looking around for a way out. While she was distracted, Bucky began opening his buckets and pouring them into the two remaining trays. Natasha stalked forward, pulling a bucket from Steve’s hands and looking at the label. 

“Acadia green?” She read, voice filled with shocked betrayal. Her eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s panicking ones. “How could you?” She said. 

“Um,” Steve said again, trying to subtly back out of the room. Suddenly Natasha yelped, spinning around, and Steve saw that there was now a thick stripe of peacock blue running the length of her back, and a grinning Bucky standing just behind her. 

“See, it’s a nice colour. Looks great on you.” He said smugly. Quick as a snake, Natasha snatched the brush out of his hand, hitting him over the head with it and spraying paint everywhere. They all stood in silence for a shocked moment, and then everyone was moving at once, diving for the already-poured trays of paint. Bucky took hold of a roller covered in marblehead gold while Natasha grabbed more of the blue. Steve managed to get a small bucket of audubon russet, which he just stuck his whole hand into, striking the first true blow of the fight by smacking his hand over Bucky’s face. He had a moment to appreciate how badass it made his boyfriend look before he was shrieking and running away from the former assassin, who was stalking forward with murder in his eyes. 

Twenty minutes later, they were all lying on the drop cloth, panting for breath and speckled in paint. They had declared a draw after a very tense final standoff that saw them all holding whole buckets of paint and eyeing each other. They were also definitely going to have to repaint the entire room, which was as speckled with various colours as their bodies were. 

“Shower?” Bucky suggested. The other two nodded, pulling themselves to their feet. Natasha and Bucky were about to leave the room when they were stopped by Steve’s hands on their arms. 

“We should take off our clothes here,” he explained, “instead of spreading paint to the bathroom.” Natasha smirked. 

“Sure soldier,” she said. 

“Whatever you say Stevie,” Bucky added. And honestly, Steve had just been being sensible (though he wouldn’t deny very much enjoying the view as his boyfriend and girlfriend stripped in front of him). The shower was massive, and easily accommodated the three of them, another on a long list of reasons why they had bought the house (though considering how many modifications Natasha and Bucky had made to it in the name of “home security” having to renovate the bathroom wouldn’t have been that much of a struggle). The three shower heads easily managed to cover all of them with hot water however, and they melted into the feeling of hot water washing away the marks of their fight. They were clearly going to have to talk more about paint colours, but for now... Bucky grabbed the container of body wash, squeezing out a handful and beginning to rub it into Natasha’s shoulders. 

The spy moaned at the feeling of Bucky’s fingers digging into the tense muscles of her back as he lathered the soap across them, his mouth trailing behind his fingers, pressing kisses to the expanse of pale white skin before him. She leaned her head back, letting him see her smile before her eyes slipped shut and she let out a small sigh. Bucky’s eyes flicked up to meet Steve’s, which were taking in the view hungrily, eyes rapidly darkening with desire. Bucky smirked as he moved his hands from Natasha’s shoulders, trailing them around her sides and up to cup her breasts, sliding suds across her skin as his fingers pinched at her nipples. Natasha’s back arched as she groaned, a noise echoed by the watching Steve. Bucky took his time, rubbing at Natasha’s breasts and pressing open-mouthed kisses to her neck, ignoring the bitter taste of the soap in favour of savouring her vocal reactions to his ministrations. 

Letting the water wash the soap from his metal hand, he slid it down her stomach, stopping just above the small patch of red hair between her legs. He let his hand stay there, rubbing back and forth just above where they both wanted it, teasing, until Natasha let out a frustrated groan. Knowing that physical threats against his body and maybe even his weapons collection were imminent, he finally let his fingers trail lower. He groaned in unison with her as his fingers finally met hot, slick flesh, rubbing his hard dick against her back almost unconsciously as he began to circle a finger softly around her clit. The sensors in his new arm were sending him far more feedback than a flesh arm ever could, the robotic arm reading the small tremors in Natasha’s body, guiding him to the perfect ways to drive her crazy. 

A deeper, masculine moan brought both of their attention back to the other man in the shower with them. Steve was watching them intensely, lips bitten red as he slowly stroked his own dick. Bucky slipped a finger inside Natasha, teasing at her wet folds even as he moved his thumb to continue stroking at her clit. She moaned, Steve jerking with the sound, and Bucky smirked in satisfaction. Turning his head he kissed his way back up Natasha’s neck, pausing to tug at her earlobe with his teeth before whispering into her ear. 

“You want him inside you baby? You want that nice thick dick pounding away at you while I hold you up?” Natasha groaned again, arching her body towards Steve as she nodded and Steve immediately moved forward, super-hearing having allowed him to catch Bucky’s words even over the spray of the shower. Bucky was expecting him to wrap Natasha’s legs around himself, but instead Steve dropped to his knees in front of her, ignoring the water that was now spraying him in the face as he closed his eyes and pressed his nose to her hair. His shoulders rose as he inhaled, and then he cracked his eyes to look up at where Natasha and Bucky were both staring down at him, smiling before he opened his mouth, pressing forward. Bucky felt the wet slide of Steve’s tongue against the metal of his fingers and immediately shifted his grip, sliding his finger from her in favour of spreading her folds to allow Steve easier access. The soldier took immediate advantage of the hot wet flesh spread so invitingly in front of him, diving in with his tongue, loving the noises that dropped from Natasha’s mouth as he licked and sucked at her. The taste of her exploded across his tongue, and he moaned with it as his hands came up to grip her hips, burying his face more firmly in her hot cunt. Natasha’s own arms wound back around Bucky’s neck, and she arched back against him as she gasped and twitched between the two men. 

It wasn’t long before she was coming with a shout, trembling against them. Steve stood back up, not giving her any time to recover before grabbing her legs, settling them above his hips as he grabbed hold of his cock, lining up carefully before pressing forward in one long, slow movement. Natasha and Bucky groaned in unison, Natasha with her head thrown back over Bucky’s shoulder and eyes closed, Bucky staring down at the sight of Steve’s flushed red cock disappearing inside Natasha. He gave her a second once he was fully seated before beginning to thrust in and out, quickly reaching the fast pace she favoured, slamming against her as he gasped with pleasure. Held firmly between the two men, Natasha rocked with Steve’s movements, gasping with each thrust. 

Reaching forward, Bucky wrapped one hand around Steve’s neck, pulling him forward into a kiss, moaning into his mouth as the movement pressed his own painfully hard dick more firmly against Natasha’s back. Natasha’s gasps of pleasure were growing in frequency and volume as she approached a second orgasm, and Bucky broke away from Steve, watching as he began to kiss Natasha instead. They looked beautiful together, powerful and dangerous and so fucking gorgeous. 

Bucky reached between them, his fingers barely brushing against Natasha’s clit before she was coming again with a shout. She pushed weakly against Steve’s shoulders, and he slid out of her with a slick noise. She collapsed back on the small bench against the far wall of the shower, leaning back with a satisfied smirk. Both men stared at her, her wild red hair plastered against her body, breasts heaving as she caught her breath, slick smears of her own fluid visible on her thighs where her legs were spread wide. Her smile softened into something more affectionate at the way they stared. 

“Well boys?” She said, gesturing between the two of them, and that was enough to prompt Steve and Bucky back into action. They came together with a clack of teeth before they got their heads at the right angle, kissing furiously as their hands wrapped around each other’s dicks. They swallowed each others moans as they stroked quickly, both very familiar with what the other liked. Driven to the edge by Natasha, Steve came first, shouting as he painted Bucky’s stomach with white splatters, but it wasn’t long after that Bucky echoed his actions. Bucky stumbled over to join Natasha on the bench, while Steve just sat down where he was, tipping his head back into the spray, eyes closed and stupidly long eyelashes fanned across his cheeks. Natasha and Bucky both enjoyed the view for a long moment. 

“We still need to decide on the colour for the kitchen,” Steve said finally, breaking the silence. 

Natasha threw a bottle of conditioner at his head.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/134338743148/for-prompt-stevebukcynat-painting-their-new)


	2. Drink Drank Drunk (Tony/Pepper/Rhodey)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “i lost my asshole friends in this club and im kinda drunk and youre kinda gorgeous, please help me” au

Tony was drunk. Tony was very drunk. Tony was pretty sure the woman he’d been chatting up for the last ten minutes was actually a painting. Tony had no idea where his shitty friends had gone. Tony wanted another drink. 

Tony probably didn’t need another drink. 

He got one anyway, wandering around and trying very hard not to spill as he looked for his friends. But the lights were very flashy and the club was very dim and he kept getting distracted by dancing and he was pretty sure he should just give up and call a cab. The only problem being he couldn’t find his phone, he wasn’t quite sure where his wallet had gone (since he didn’t so much as buy drinks as point to his face and wait for the bartender to recognize him and put it on a tab), and he was having more difficulty than he really should locating the exit. Looking around, Tony spotted a couple standing at a table nearby and decided that they looked like Responsible Adults who could help him in his hour of need. He veered towards them, weaving only slightly as he navigated the mass of club goers moving around him. 

Tony finally managed to walk up to them, but then he just kind of stopped and stared. The woman was tall, with long red hair, and a look that just screamed utter class, while the guy had gorgeous dark black skin and was leaning against the table, relaxed. Tony needed a moment to collect himself. He wondered if they’d be offended if he asked if they wanted to come back to his place. 

“Can we help you?” The man interrupted Tony’s increasingly dirty thoughts about how beautiful they’d both look spread out on his Egyptian cotton sheets. 

“Um. Yes.” The man smiled at him, gesturing for him to continue. The smile wasn’t helping keep Tony focused, to be honest. “Uh, I was wondering if you’d like to have a drink with me?”

Wait, that hadn’t been what he wanted to ask. 

“Sure,” the woman spoke this time, voice louder than Tony had been expecting. 

Oh well. Might as well just go with it. 

“Excellent,” Tony said, flagging down a waiter, the man asking for another beer while the woman ordered a G&T. Tony got more whiskey, because that was a good choice for him to be making. The three drinks appeared before them shortly, and Tony leaned forward against the table partially because it put them closer to both of the beautiful people now taking sips of their new drinks, partially because he was pretty sure he was going to fall over if he didn’t lean against something. 

“Tony Stark,” he offered, flashing his trademark grin. 

“We know,” the woman replied, voice amused. 

“James Rhodes,” the man said. 

“Pepper Potts,” the woman added. Tony squinted at her. 

“Wait, really?” She nodded, rolling her eyes. Tony shrugged. 

“Well Pepper, Rhodey, what brings you here tonight?” The man raised an eyebrow at the nickname, but still smiled into his beer. Pepper waited until Tony was taking another pull of his whiskey before she replied. 

“Oh we were looking for someone to take home and fuck,” she said, voice blasé. Tony choked on his drink, and they both laughed at him. Once he finished sputtering, he raised wide eyes to both of them. It took a lot to surprise him, but they had certainly managed it. 

“Um, are you serious?” He asked. 

“Dead serious,” Rhodey replied, flashing that goddamn smile again. “You interested?” Tony raised both eyebrows. 

“Hell yeah,” he said, still not certain he believed this was actually happening. Pepper laughed, loud and delighted. “Wait,” he said, “is this just because I’m, y’know,” he gestured to his face, “Tony Stark.” 

“Wait you’re Tony Stark?” Pepper replied in faux-surprise, “I had no idea!” Tony gave her a look, but she just laughed at him again. People didn’t usually laugh at him this much, at least not to his face. He liked it. 

“Of course it’s because you’re Tony Stark,” Rhodey added, “You’ve got that stupid goatee and you’re completely full of yourself and you’re far too used to getting everything you want.” His voice dropped as he continued, “I want to see you begging for it.” Tony felt his mouth drop open slightly. 

“You always come across as very conceited on the news” Pepper added, drawing close to whisper in his ear, “someone really ought to take you down a peg or two.” 

Tony swallowed roughly. 

“So, my place or yours?” He said. 

“Yours,” Rhodey replied from where he was suddenly pressed up against Tony’s side. He leaned forward, nipping at his jaw before grabbing his head and turning him into a kiss, tongues tangling while Tony felt the sharp press of Pepper’s nails against his stomach as she ran her hand up his front. Rhodey pulled away, and was immediately replaced by Pepper, her lipstick smearing across Tonys lips as she licked into his mouth. Finally they both pulled back, and Tony found himself swaying slightly between the two of them. 

“Wow,” he said, staring into the distance before pulling himself together, “wow, okay, yeah, let’s go, go go go.” Pepper laughed at his impatience as he began trying to herd them towards the exit, Rhodey grabbing him and turning him in the right direction as the trio made their way through the crowd. 

Tony was suddenly feeling very grateful towards his friends for ditching him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/134345896438/i-lost-my-asshole-friends-in-this-club-and-im)


	3. The Winged Prince (Sam/Steve/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shevni asked:  
> The other day i dreamed i found a eagle feather twice the size of me,so bird prince sam, knight bucky and very passionate elfling (or such) steve. Fantasy AU :) (is this how you prompt?)

Prince Samuel blinked down at the small green boy sprawled on his back at the foot of Sam’s bed, snoring loudly. One of his feet was propped against one of the bed posts, the other hanging off the bed, arms flung out from his body haphazardly. Sam’s wings rustled as he shifted, looking around the room, but there was nothing else out of place, save the elfling that had somehow managed to get into his quarters. 

“Um,” Sam said. The elfling snored louder. 

Sam was trying very hard not to stare at all of the green skin on display in front of him, the elfling clad in only a small brown loincloth, the faint outlines of leaves seeming to shift and float just below his skin. His bright yellow hair like straw hung into his face, sticking in all directions. His mouth was open, revealing a small pink tongue and a double row of sharp pointed teeth. Sam tilted his head, large black eyes not breaking contact with the elfling as he called out. 

“James!” He barely raised his voice but his personal knight still appeared immediately at his side. 

“Sire, what- what the fuck is that?” James said, voice flipping from formal to casual as he caught sight at the elfling flung across Sam’s bed. 

“I was hoping you could tell me,” Sam replied, voice calm and even. 

“Hey!” James shouted, Sam flinching at the sudden increase in volume “You! Wake up!” 

“Subtle approach,” Sam said dryly. James rolled his eyes, and they both watched as the elfling slowly blinked open his eyes, startlingly bright blue against the green of his skin. He sat up with a groan, clutching at his head with long, spindly fingers, starting as he caught sight of Sam and James. 

“Who the fuck are you?” He said, voice far deeper than Sam would have expected for a creature of his stature. 

“Who they fuck are we?” James replied, incredulous, “who the fuck are you? How the fuck did you get in here?” The elfling frowned, looking around him. 

“This isn’t my house,” he said slowly. 

“No shit,” James said, relaxing slightly, having apparently decided that the tiny elfling presented no immediate danger to the Prince. The elfling looked back at the Prince and the knight. He blinked once, twice, then-

“Holy SHIT!” He said, jumping to his feet. Standing on the bed, he was just barely as tall as Sam, who he was currently staring at. “You’re the fucking Prince! Oh fuck. What the fuck.” The elfling was now blushing bright yellow as he swore loudly, and Sam bit the inside of his cheek to stop from laughing. “Goddess forgive me, I am so sorry, fuck, what the fuck.”

“How did you get in here?” James asked again, voice stern, though Sam could hear the wavering notes of amusement underneath the authority. The elfling suddenly paled, finally realizing that he might be in a good deal of trouble. 

“I have no idea,” he admitted, “I was at the feast last night celebrating the Prince’s hatching day,” he cut his eyes to Sam briefly before returning to James. Fair enough, Sam though. After all, James was the one with his hand resting on a sword. “I may have drank a bit too much mulberry wine,” the elfling concluded, and Sam couldn’t help the snort that slipped from him. James shot him a look but he could tell the knight was just as amused by the tiny elfling as he was. 

“Well no harm done,” Sam said, now that he’d officially ruined his stern facade. He gestured towards the elfling, “Please, relax…?” 

“Steve,” the elfling hastily offered, dropping into a bow so low his hair brushed the sheets he was standing on, “Steven Rogers at your service, sire.” He’s adorable, Sam thought to himself, delighted. 

“Well Steven Rogers, would you perhaps like to join me and James for a nightcap?” Sam could feel James’ eyes on him but he refused to turn and meet his knight’s eyes, instead gesturing over to the fruit and wine spread over the low table by the fireplace. Steve glanced over at James before hesitantly nodding. 

“It would be an honour sire,” he said. Sam waved a hand as he strode over to the table. 

“You’ve already slept in my bed, I think we can do away with titles, don’t you?” The elfling blushed bright yellow again at the implication of Sam’s words, but nodded his head in agreement, hesitantly taking a seat by the fire. Sam settled into his favourite seat, a plush chair with a low back that allowed him to spread out his massive wings behind him. He caught Steve staring at them as he stretched them out, and he smirked to himself. They were an impressive sight, nearly three times as long as he was tall, brown as dark as his skin at the top, with light brown primaries and secondaries at the bottom. James settled into the third seat after securing the outer door and exchanging a brief word with the guards remaining outside. 

“So Steven-the-elfling, have you been in the city long?” Steve glanced at James before replying, obviously still wary of the knight’s presence. 

“I was born in the city,” he said finally, “been here my whole life.” Sam nodded. 

“I have also been here since I was a hatchling, though you probably already knew that. James, however, was born in the far north, weren’t you James?” James narrowed his eyes at the Prince before nodding to the elfling, whose eyes had widened in surprise as he looked the knight up and down. 

“I was. A cruel and strange land, that. I escaped when I was still in my youth and travelled south until I arrived in the city as a refugee. The Prince’s mother took me in, placed me as a page in the palace.” 

“Do you have any metalwork?” The elfling asked, before flushing again. “I mean- I’m sorry that was terribly rude, please ignore me, I’m very sorry-”

“I do,” James said, interrupting. Exchanging a glance with Sam, who smiled slightly in encouragement, James stood and began to unbuckle his armour. Sam was satisfied to see the elfling’s eyes fixed on the skin being revealed as James stripped himself of his outer layers. He glanced back at James, meeting the knight’s eyes. He rolled his eyes at the Prince, and Sam smiled again, knowing that his knight had already figured out what the Prince’s aims were. 

Soon, James was stripped down to his own loincloth, revealing the mechanical metal arm that was attached to his left shoulder, and the delicate silver filagree embedded in his skin. The silver spirals radiated out from his shoulder, covering his entire body save his face, where they stopped at his neck. Sam smirked as he watched the elfling’s eyes widen and darken as they traced over James’s exposed skin. Sam had to admit, seeing James naked was quite the sight - it had been years since the first time Sam had bedded his knight, and he still found the sight wondrous to behold, his knowledge of the cruelty involved in its creation in no way tempering its beauty. Sam watched Steve watching James for a long moment before finally speaking, not looking away from the elfling and the obvious desire in his gaze. 

“James, some wine if you please.”

“Of course sire,” James said, stepping forward and pouring two goblets full of wine. After a glance from Sam he poured a third for himself, handing Sam and Steve their glasses and settling back into his seat with his own. 

“Tell me Steven,” Sam said, overly casual, “are you wedded?” He saw James roll his eyes out of the corner of his eyes, but ignored the knight as he watched the elfling bush and shake his head negative. Sam smiled then, sharp and predatory, and both other men shivered slightly, James in the knowledge that the Prince always got what he wanted, Steve with the promise held in his gleaming black eyes as they scanned over the tiny elfling’s body. 

Steve wasn’t sure if this was the worst mistake he had ever made, or the best, but he was certain it was going to be very interesting finding out which it was.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this may become a full-length fic one day ngl
> 
> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/134351643508/the-other-day-i-dreamed-i-found-a-eagle-feather)


	4. Of Memory & Anger (Steve/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
>  ~~things you said that i wasn’t meant to hear stucky or~~ things you said that made me feel like shit stucky

Remember when…

Hey Buck do you…

You used to…

Over and over and over again and the American just wouldn’t fucking shut up. The man who used to be the Winter Soldier, the man who was Bucky Barnes before that, ground his jaw in anger as he sat across from him. He was currently cheerfully chattering on about how during the depression he and Barnes had almost starved to death on a weekly basis. There is something fucking wrong with him, the soldier thought to himself as he watched the blonde smile in fond remembrance as he talked about how he had nearly died. 

“I was so hungry that I couldn’t stand up fast or I would faint, and then you-”

“Jesus fucking christ,” the soldier growled out, having had enough. The American startled, looking over at the soldier with wide eyes. The soldier couldn’t blame him for being surprised, he’d barely spoken to the blonde man, to anyone, since he had sought him out. All the soldier had wanted was to untangle the fucked up web of memory and dream and hallucination filling his head. To banish the screaming spectres haunting his every step. Instead he’d been given front row tickets to the Steve and Bucky show that he’d never asked for or wanted. 

“Buck?” The American said hesitantly when the soldier didn’t say anything else. 

“Do you ever fucking stop? Jesus fuck, no wonder I shot you.” The wounded look on the American’s face just made him angrier. 

“I just-” 

“I know what you were ‘just’,” the soldier growled, mocking, “and you need to fucking stop. I told you when I came here that Barnes was dead and gone, did you think I was fucking joking? I don’t fucking remember anything, what don’t you get about that?” 

“I-” The soldier took vicious satisfaction in the devastated expression on the American’s face. 

“Seriously,” the soldier said, pushing up from the table, “you have to stop trying to resurrect a ghost. What’s dead should stay dead.” He turned to head to the gym, needing to hit something and exorcize his anger.

“Should.” He stopped at the sound of the American’s voice. 

“Excuse me?” he said, turning back to see the American standing, staring at him with a mixture of anger and triumph that stood in stark contrast to the sadness and occasional affection that he usually directed at the soldier. 

“Should,” he repeated, and the soldier took a slow, predatory step back towards him.

“What?” He growled.

“Should stay dead. Not is, not will, not must. Should. You can remember. You just don’t want to.” The soldier narrowed his eyes in annoyance, shaking his head. 

“You’re reading too much into things,” he snapped, “stop pinning your fucking hopes on me. I’m not your best friend, and you’re never getting him back.” 

“No, you’re not him, but you could be. If you wanted to be. If you just tried, Bucky, I know you could-”

“I don’t want to!” The soldier shouted, snapping, “I don’t fucking want to be him, why can’t you understand that? You keep telling these goddamn stories trying to get me to remember but I don’t fucking want to remember! If I remember then I’ll have to feel it and I can’t deal with that, why can’t you understand that! All the blood that I have spilled, all of the innocent people that I have slaughtered without thought and you want me to feel again?” He paused, panting for breath, both men staring at each other, shocked by the soldier’s outburst. 

“You already feel Buck,” the American whispered, “or you wouldn’t be so upset right now.” 

“Fuck you!” The soldier screamed, fists clenching, “Fuck you Rogers you piece of shit! You don’t know, you don’t fucking know-” he broke off, panting for breath, growling in anger when the American just smiled at him. 

“You called me by my name,” he pointed out. The soldier screamed, wordless rage, surging across the room and slamming the blonde man into the wall. 

“Stop fucking trying! Just stop fucking pushing, stop fucking doing this to me! Why are you doing this to me?” His voice cracked slightly on the final word, catching on a sob as the American’s smile crumbled. 

“I’m sorry,” he said softly, “I’m sorry Buck, I don’t want to hurt you, I just want to help you, help you remember who you are, help you remember who I am-” The soldier stared at him, expression frantic as he heaved in deep breaths. Abruptly he jerked forward, pressing his lips hard against Rogers’, feeling the sharp press of his teeth as they cut into his lip, blood filling his mouth. He pulled back slightly, closing his eyes against the expressions flashing across Steve’s face. 

“That’s all I remember,” he whispered, before turning and striding from the room, leaving the blonde man leaning against the wall, chest heaving as he stared at the soldier’s retreating back.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/135354454253/things-you-said-that-i-wasnt-meant-to-hear-stucky)


	5. Riding on Tractors with Boys and Girls (Natasha/Laura/Clint/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> squirrelstone said:  
> things you said while we were driving + you know which ship XD

The tractor turned around at the edge of the field in a slow, precise semi circle, cutting a smooth path through the crop. Heading back down the field, it followed the sharp geometric line left by previous passes of the machine, drawing up and down the field in careful paths.

“Holy sweet fucking jesus,” Clint said, throwing his head back, “I can literally feel myself aging. By the time we get home the kids will be grown and married. No one will remember who we are. We’ll be like Rip Von Winkle.” He turned to Laura, perched on the back next to him, “Have I grown a long white beard yet?” 

“Oh shush,” she said, punching his arm. “Be nice.”

“I am being nice.” He grumbled, swinging his legs, the soles of his feet brushing the tops of the plants as they slowly, exactly, made their way back along the length of the field. Laura turned her head, looking up at where Bucky and Natasha were sitting. She couldn’t see Bucky’s face but she could imagine the look of fierce concentration on his face as he stared forward, hands gripping the wheel at exactly nine and three. His back was tense and stiff with concentration, so focused on his task and determined to do it right.

She could see Natasha better, perched on top of the wheel well, one leg tucked under her and the other swinging dangerously close to Clint’s head as she smiled fondly down at Bucky. She leaned forward, saying something to Bucky that Laura couldn’t hear over the loud growl of the old tractor. Laura smiled at the fond look Natasha was giving Bucky.

Laura could remember when she’d met Natasha. The Russian had been nearly as skittish as Bucky was when he first moved in, untrusting and suspicious. It had been years before she’d seen Natasha smile, before she’d trusted Laura (and Clint) with her emotions. She still held a little bit of distance, always would, and Laura would never begrudge her that, but seeing the other woman now, as unguarded and affectionate as she could be made her heart warm. She turned to look back at the field, catching Clint staring at her with a small smile.

“What?” she said, leaning back to better meet her husband’s gaze. 

“Nothing,” he said, voice openly affectionate in a way that made her smile again. “Just, I love you.” Laura laughed. 

“I love you too,” she said, voice teasing as she leaned forward and quickly kissed him on the lips. He reached over, intertwining his fingers with hers, and they both turned to look back at the neat path being left behind them. He squeezed her hand, and she felt everything that they had left unspoken in their exchange of affection. The love not only for each other, but for Bucky and Natasha and the complex and wonderful family that they had all built together.

Laura never would have predicted her life would have ended up like this. Growing up, she had wanted to be an architect, a doctor, a chef. She’d never really wanted to follow in her mother’s footsteps and become a farmer, but from the moment that she had met Clint, she had known her life was never going to be what she had planned. Still, she never would have predicted she would end up back on a farm, never would have imagined she would love it as much as she did. She had known her life was going to be odd, be different, had accepted the strange complexities that came along with marrying a SHIELD agent and later, an Avenger, but still hadn’t seen the five am milking coming.

She certainly never would have predicted the other man and woman that were keeping them company on the tractor, the role that they would play in her life, the love that she would have for them.

Clint groaned loudly, drawing her out of her musings.

“Okay, seriously, I would like to get home before I die of old age.”

“I’m sorry I’m doing such a good job,” Bucky’s soft growl was unexpected over the noise of the engine, “next time I’ll follow your lead and drive like a drunk toddler.” Clint’s protestations were barely audible over Laura and Natasha’s laughter. 

She couldn’t have predicted this, but she couldn’t deny how much she loved it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/135348973618/7-you-know-which-ship-xd)
> 
> [more in the Farm AU](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/tagged/the-farm-au)


	6. Dance Dance (Steve/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> Steve/Bucky Prompt: person A asks person B to dance with them, but person B can’t dance. So person A offers to teach them.

“C’mon Stevie”

“Buck, seriously, for the thousandth time, I don’t want to learn how to dance.”

“But Steeeeeve-”

“Bucky!” Steve snapped, spinning to look at his friend, “there’s no point! Even if I wasn’t clumsy as shit, there’s still the fact that I can’t spend more than five minutes running without having an asthma attack, how do you think dancing is going to go, huh? Besides,” Steve continued, turning to glare down at his sketchpad resting in front of him on the kitchen table, “whats the point of learnin’ when there ain’t no dames that want to dance with me anyways.” Bucky frowned across the room at his friend. Steve didn’t notice, too busy frowning down at the paper as he scratched away at a drawing of old Mrs. Goldstein from next door. 

Turning back to the stove, Bucky resolved that even if he wouldn’t let him now, one day he was going to get Steve to learn how to dance. He just wanted his friend to experience the joy, the freedom, the press of air like flying as you swung around the dance floor. He didn’t get why Steve was so hung up on what he thought he could do or what he ought to do. So what if no dames wanted to dance with him? Bucky would dance with him. So what if he couldn’t dance without having an asthma attack? He could stand on Bucky’s toes and Bucky would dance for the both of them. 

But Steve was a stubborn bastard, and war came to Brooklyn before he was ever able to drag his friend onto a dance floor. 

—————

“Bet you wish you’d taken me up on the offer to learn how to dance back when we were in Brooklyn now, don’t cha?” 

“Shut up,” Steve muttered, staring down at his feet. The German forest was full of shadows in the twilight, making it difficult to see where they were stepping. For all the grace and physical abilities granted to him by the serum that had made him shoot up and pack on more muscles than Bucky’d seen before in his life, Steve had still nearly toppled three times since they started trying. But they were back in London after the train mission tomorrow, and Steve had stupidly promised Peggy a dance, so here they were. 

“Fuck,” Steve swore as he stepped back and tripped over a tree root, finally landing on his ass in the dirt. Bucky burst out laughing, slapping a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound, painfully aware that they were still well into enemy territory. He couldn’t stop laughing however, not with the grumpy look on Steve’s face and the way he stayed on the forest floor, pouting. Steve sighed, putting his face in his hands. 

“Maybe we should just try again tomorrow?” Bucky suggested, swallowing down on the laughter still bubbling out of him. 

“We can’t,” Steve wined, and Bucky had to shove his fist in his mouth to stop himself from’ laughing louder at his friends childishness, “we’ve got the mission to capture Zola and then we’ll be in transit back to London and then by the time we get there it’ll be time for me to go meet Peggy.” 

“Well we can’t keep goin’ like this,” Bucky pointed out, “you ain’t learning when you’re spending just as much time workin’ to stay on your feet as learnin’ to move them.” Steve sighed, offering up his hand to Bucky to help pull him upright. 

“Alright,” he agreed, “we’ll try again after the train job.” 

—————

“This is a bit late for my dance with Peggy.”

“You think you’re real funny don’t you Rogers?” 

“I’m just saying, you fallin’ off that train really fucked up my date.”

“You know what?” Bucky stepped back, raising his hands, “Forget it. You’re on your own. Enjoy embarrassing yourself in front of the Wakandan ambassador.” 

“C’mon,” Steve laughed, catching at Bucky’s sleeve as he backed away. “I’m just joking.” He paused, face turning more serious, “Please Buck?” Bucky rolled his eyes but couldn’t help the small, fond smile that turned up the corners of his mouth as he stepped back into Steve’s space. 

“Okay hands here and here,” he said, grabbing Steve’s arms and wrapping them around himself. “Now I’m gonna lead-”

“-oh you are, are you?” 

“-so you just have to mirror my steps,” Bucky finished, ignoring Steve. “You only need to do the basic waltz to get through this gala.” Steve’s face became more serious as he listened to Bucky speak. 

“It’s real simple,” Bucky continued, using his grip on Steve’s shoulders and waist to push Steve back into motion, “just one two three, one two three, one two three.” He paused, stilling as he grabbed a remote out of his pocket and clicked play on the fancy speaker system Tony had outfitted their suite with. The notes of the soft waltz filled the air, and Steve’s face scrunched with concentration as he tried to follow the beat. Bucky smiled as he pushed them back into motion. 

“One two three, one two three, one two three,” Steve muttered under his breath as he followed Bucky around the room, movements becoming more smooth and graceful as he settled into the rhythm of the dance. 

“See?” Bucky said, smiling up at him. “Easy.” 

“Yeah,” Steve replied with a smile, “Easy.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/135615094403/stevebucky-prompt-person-a-asks-person-b-to) (and come say hi! send a prompt!)


	7. The Longest Night (Steve/Sam/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> shevni said:  
> birb prince sam, his favourite knight and elf celebrating winter solstice together for the first time?? ^^ =)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a continuation of [ this ficlet](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5329019/chapters/12307805).

Sam’s goblet was held loosely in his long fingers as he lounged in his seat, one leg thrown over the left arm of the ornately carved throne. His wings were spread out behind him, massive and imposing and regal, servants carefully stepping over them as they hurried back and forth. Though he couldn’t see him, he could feel James behind him, his presence steady and unfaltering as he stood next to his prince. The massive banquet hall was filled with the sounds of laughter and music as the people feasted. The Solstice was one of many celebrations over the course of the year where the Queen and King opened the palace up to the kingdom as a whole, mixing common citizens with diplomats from other kingdoms, a stable hand sat next to the minister of finance, a water sprite sharing stories with a visiting Princess.

Sam’s mother and father, sat on the other side of the table from him, utterly wrapped up in each other, still annoyingly in love with each other years and years after their arranged marriage had solidified a treaty between two neighbouring kingdoms. His mother, tall and regal, hardly seemed to have aged at all in that time, her dark skin reflecting back the light of the torches, her long black hair falling in twisted ropes from a complicated knot atop her head. Unlike her son, she kept her wings, black and white feathers and even more striking than Sam’s, tucked close to her as she leaned towards her husband. The King for his part had lightly green skin, testament to his wood elf heritage on his mother’s side, complimented by long straight green hair swept back from his face, sharp cheekbones and keen black eyes, and was looking at Sam’s mother as if she was the centre of the universe.

Pulling his eyes from his parents, Sam scanned the rest of the hall, smiling to see his people celebrating, faces filled with joy. His eyes finally came to rest on the young man sitting to his left. Steven the elf was sitting on one of the tall stools made specifically for his kind, tall enough to allow him to see over the top of the table. However, he was still perched on the edge of his seat, leaning forward as he tried to take in the entirety of the massive hall. His cheeks were flushed yellow from the wine he’d been drinking steadily all night (for such a tiny creature, he could drink a troll under the table) and he’d kept up a steady stream of chatter all night, whether or not Sam was listening. At the moment, he seemed to be commenting on the fact that a tiny and grumpy looking dwarf on the other side of the hall was being aggressively hit on by a very tall and very beautiful dryad.

“Twenty copper pieces she slaps the dryad,” Steve said.

“Twenty gold pieces they fuck before the night ends,” James’ growly voice countered from behind them, Steve twisting to smile over his shoulder at the guard. 

“Sam?” he asked, turning towards the prince. Sam shook his head, smiling fondly. 

“I don’t think so,” he said. Steve shrugged before turning back around, all three men now watching the dwarf and dryad with interest. The dwarf seemed to be getting more and more infuriated by the dryad’s aggressive flirtation, face turning red as she squirmed in her seat. 

“I believe I may retire soon,” Sam commented dryly to James.

“Aye sire,” James replied, voice impressively disinterested given what he knew of the prince’s plans for the night. Steve remained oblivious, gaze fixed on the growing tension between the subjects of their wager. The night was growing late, and those with children had long since excused themselves from the hall. Those revellers that remained had committed themselves to the wild and fierce celebration that was the solstice in the palace. After the King and Queen retired, the procession would begin, the High Priestesses entering the hall and beginning the rites and offerings that accompanied the longest night of the year. Sam would also excuse himself from the group revelries this year, though he had joined in in the past. As James already knew, this year the Prince had other plans.

Suddenly, the dwarf snapped, knocking the dishes off the table, and the pixie next to her to the floor, as she jumped and threw herself at the dyad. Sam leaned forward without meaning to, but rather than attacking, the dwarf seemed to be attempting to kiss the other woman into submission.

“Aw,” Steve sat back with a disappointed sigh, turning back to the other two men. “I don’t have twenty gold pieces,” he confessed, looking up at James.

“I know.” James said, and Sam didn’t have to see him to imagine the predatory grin on his face, “guess I’ll just have to think of some other form of payment.”

\----------

The drums seemed to pound through the walls, the entire palace pulsing to the primal rhythm as the three men stumbled up the stairs. Steve was held securely in James’ arms, the metal arm under his ass holding him up while James’ other hand gripped the fine blonde strands atop Steve’s head. His legs were wrapped around James’ waist as they kissed, messy and off-centre, Sam touching them everywhere he was able as he followed them, tongue running down the length of James’ spine.

Distance and decorum had long been shrugged off as midnight drew nearer and the wild frenzy of the solstice grew stronger. James’ armour had been lost exiting the hall, Sam slamming him into the wall just inside the passageway and attacking his throat with his mouth before stripping him of his outer clothing. Sam’s clothing had lasted the longest, finely embroidered robe disappearing near the laundry, trousers tossed aside on their way up the first flight of stairs. Steve meanwhile had faired the best or the worst of them, depending on how you looked at it.

Between James and Sam not a stitch of clothing remained on the elfling.

One of James’ hands, the one that had been buried in his hair, trailed down Steve’s back, disappearing out of Sam’s sight, though by the groan Steve let out as he tossed back his head, he could guess where it had gone. Sam was frantic with need, wanted to stop them right there, the other two men just as desperate, but following their Princes orders as he urged them onwards to his chambers. However much he might wish to give in to his urges, Sam knew he would regret the lack of restraint the next morning, and so he waited, though his wings quivered with impatience.

Afterwards, they lie in a sweaty heap, tangled together, Sam’s wings arching above them like a protective blanket. James nuzzles his face into Sam’s neck, pressing a gentle kiss to the Prince’s soft skin.

“Happy solstice,” he whispers, and a tired smile stretches across Sam’s face as he returns the sentiment, revelling in the feeling of his chosen bedmates’ naked bodies pressed against his own. Together, they will sleep away the remainder of the longest night, and awaken on the other side of the slow turn towards spring. 

Steve, meanwhile, is already snoring.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/136075533318/birb-prince-sam-his-favourite-knight-and-elf)
> 
> fuck, this is probably gonna become a Thing, isn't it??


	8. Remember (Sam/Steve/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anonymous said:  
> spending time in the city and retracing their old steps until they reach that one alley they secretly banged in at like 3am and Bucky remembering and being real smug about it

“Steve got into a fight in that alley,” Bucky says, pointing with his slushy at a narrow gap between two old buildings that had been there are least since, Sam assumed, the 30s. 

“I did not!” Steve said, sounding indignant. 

“Yeah you did,” Bucky insisted. “Remember, next door was the grocery store and the other side used to be that dress shop, and you got into a fight with Tommy O’Malley and his boys over them hollering at some dames, and they pulled you into the alley and when I found ya, you were lying on the ground covered in your own-” 

“OKAY, okay, Jesus fucking Christ,” Steve said, hastily interrupting him. 

“His own what?” Clint’s voice came from where he and Natasha were trailing behind them, muffled by the hot dog he’d just shoved into his mouth. 

“Hey, wasn’t that where Missy Davis used to live?” Steve said as everyone ignored Clint, pointing at a building across the street. Bucky’s face brightened from the pout it’d fallen into at Steve’s refusal to let him finish his story. 

“Yeah! Oh man, I remember her, legs up to here and massive-” Bucky had barely started to make his hands into cups in front of his chest before Natasha was smacking him across the back of his head. His head snapped forward with the force of it, but he came back up grinning. “Anyways,” he said, “quite a dame.” Sam and Steve both laughed. They walked for several minutes in silence before Steve pointed down another alley. 

“Got beat up in that alley.” He said, and Bucky grinned. 

“Sure did. What was it that time again? Please remind me.” Steve’s smile was wide as he replied. 

“Got caught stealing from Mr. Markov’s butcher shop and his sons kicked the shit out of me.” Sam shook his head. 

“I wish Tony was here-”

“No you don’t,” Natasha’s voice came from behind them, and Sam smiled as he continued. 

“-so he could hear all about America’s Sweetheart robbing poor old men.” 

“One,” Steve said, pointing at Sam, “don’t you fucking dare start up with that America’s Sweetheart bullshit, it’s bad enough from Tony. And two,” he continued, “he wasn’t some poor old man, he was fucking nasty to the working girls in the neighbourhood, he deserved to lose some steaks.” 

“You gave one of them to Clarissa for her black eye,” Bucky added in that abrupt tone that meant he had only just remembered. Steve nodded. 

“Had the rest of them for dinner with the whole building.” He said, and Sam smiled fondly, remembering the look on Tony’s face when he’d found out that Sam and Bucky lived in a building largely occupied by runners for the Irish mob, seamstresses, and sex workers. That had been a fun day. 

“Got beat up in that one too,” Bucky pointed down yet another narrow corridor between buildings, pulling Sam from his memories, and he laughed incredulously. 

“Honestly Rogers,” he said, grinning at Steve who smiled back at him, “did you get beat up in every alleyway in Brooklyn or something?” He pointed at the next alley they were approaching. “What about that one, you get in a fight defending some orphans or something in that one?” Steve rolled his eyes at Sam, opening his mouth to reply, but stopping when he actually turned to look at the alley. Instead, Sam watched with interest as the other man proceeded to shut his mouth without saying a word, turning bright red as a blush crept down his entire face. Sam raised an eyebrow, turning to Bucky for an explanation only to find the other man grinning in delight. 

“What?” Sam asked, not sure he actually wanted an answer. 

“Buck-” Steve started, but Bucky spoke over him. 

“Nah, Steve didn’t get into a fight in this alley. I did fuck him against the wall in the middle of the night once though.” Sam heard Clint choke from behind them. He blinked slowly. 

“Okay man,” he said, “good for you, but a bit TMI don’t you think?” Bucky’s face fell at Sam’s lacklustre reaction, though it did brighten considerably when he caught sight of Clint over Sam’s shoulder, the archer continuing to choke on the bite of hotdog he’d inhaled. He made a face at Sam before falling behind him and Steve to walk next to Clint. 

“We were on the way home from the bar, but we just couldn’t wait to get home-” Clint was looking a bit purple and Natasha was just looking on in amusement as Bucky began telling the story to a more appreciative (horrified) audience. Sam rolled his eyes, turning back around and bumping his shoulder affectionately against Steve’s as they continued onwards. 

“So all the stories Barnes’ has been spreading since he got back about what a little shit disturber you were really weren’t exaggerations eh?” He asked, grinning at the face Steve pulled. 

“I don’t know if shit disturber would be the term I’d use.” He said stiffly, attempting to regain his dignity. Sam barely restrained himself from rolling his eyes. Steve should know by now that was a loosing battle. 

“It’s the term I’d use now,” Sam said, and Steve stuck his tongue out at him. 

“-against the brick, so it rubbed him raw toe to tail, but he just kept askin’-” Bucky’s voice floated forward to them, and Sam walked a little bit faster. 

There were some things he didn’t need to hear. Or, at least, he didn’t need to hear in the middle of a crowded street in broad daylight.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> my canadian is showing
> 
> reblog on tumblr


	9. The Glass Coffin (T'Challa/Bucky Barnes)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> **SPOILERS FOR CIVIL WAR**
> 
>  
> 
> arlennil asked:  
> t'chucky prompt: t'challa doesn't believe in fairytales, much less foreign ones, but the more times he finds himself staring at Bucky Barnes sleeping peacefully in his glass bed, the more he feels like he is in one. except the princess is a prince who will not be awakened by a kiss. (snowwhite parallels? idk i just thought of that image)
> 
> [Chinese Translation](http://angelaxueyao.lofter.com/post/2e5c10_aeed8e2)

It becomes a ritual. 

T’Challa first wandered into the room in which Barnes’ cyro tank is stored after a particularly frustrating diplomatic talk with several neighbouring countries dragged on and on without resolution. The pain of missing his father, who would have known exactly what to do, was almost overwhelming the young King when he began striding through the palace halls. He didn’t have a particular destination in mind, and eventually he found his way to the chamber that held the former Winter Soldier. 

He paused, unable to stop himself from starting at Barnes’ frozen face. He looked so peaceful like that, so disconnected from the reality of who Barnes was, of his actions as the Winter Soldier. It must be nice, T’Challa thought, to be able to shrug off all responsibility like that. 

He shook his head at himself for thinking that. It wasn’t why Barnes had chosen to go back under, he knew. If anything, it had been an act of sacrifice, Barnes going back to something that had been so painful to him for so long, that had contributed so much to the loss of himself. Doing it so that no one could be hurt by his actions. He tilted his head, continuing to stare at the other man. There is bravery in the sacrifice of losing, of admitting when you have been defeated by the world, by your enemies, by yourself. There is courage in accepting that you cannot find peace without further pain. 

He stared at him for a moment longer before leaving, heading back to resume negotiations. He kept returning however, finding himself in the isolated cyro room whenever he felt uncertain in his role as King, when he felt frustrated with the politics that governed his actions, when he became overwhelmed with helpless anger at all the things he could not control. 

There was something peaceful about the room, about Barnes’ silent presence. Though he always feels ridiculous doing it, he finds himself often talking to the frozen man in his glass coffin, sharing his thoughts and fears with the nonjudgmental figure. He leans against the glass, staring into space and talking into the silence. Speaking aloud helps clear his head, the frozen man the perfect audience to his uncertainties. He doesn’t tell his guards where he goes when he wanders down to Barnes chamber, doesn’t tell anyone. He doesn’t really know why, except that there seems to be something liminal, something not all together real that exists in the silence of that room, of the man who stands guard over all his hopes and fears. 

He doesn’t tell anyone about his visits, but Isir leaves a book of Western fairytales on his desk with the story of Snow White bookmarked. He isn’t an idiot, he knows exactly what the captain of his guard means for him to take away from that story, but he still ignores the knowing look she gives him the next time he passes by her in the hallway. 

Some things don’t deserve acknowledgement. 

Still, the next time he finds himself in Barnes room he discovers his usual comfort tainted by disquiet. He drags a finger down the outside of the glass of Barnes’ glass chamber and can’t help but wonder if there is any part of the other man that is aware of his presence. If, somewhere in the frozen sleep he has chosen, there is some small spark that hears T’Challa’s voice when he speaks. 

Does Barnes dream? Are his dreams of the blood and death of his past, or does he perhaps dream of Wakandan diplomatic missions, of politics and state dinners and petty political arguments? T’Challa believes it is the former. He hopes it is the latter. Barnes deserves his peace, however false it might be. 

After that, T’Challa avoids the room, ignoring the concerned looks Isir gives him, focusing on his duties to his people. And if he perhaps spends a bit more time visiting the scientists working on the best way to remove the conditioning from Barnes’ mind, that is no one’s concern but his own. 

In the end, this is not a fairytale, and T’Challa is not some Western prince. 

He is a king, and this is Wakanda. 

When Barnes awakens, he is greeted by the sight of T’Challa standing stoically by his grinning scientists. The scientists began speaking to Barnes excitedly about how they managed to undo his conditioning, how they reached into his brain and picked out the words like rot in a field. Barnes’ face is serious as he listens to them, their hands flying as they explain how they have freed him of the last of what the devil placed inside him. Still, his eyes keep wandering over to T’Challa, keeping his distance across the room. Every time those dark blue eyes find his own, T’Challa has to suppress a shudder. There is something knowing in them, and he leaves before Barnes gets the chance to detangle himself from the scientists. 

He doesn’t see Barnes again for almost a month, though Isir insists on giving him reports on how his physical recovery is going, about his halting questions to his guards about finding something to speak to about the nightmares that still leave him screaming. She tells him that he has asked to be taught how to speak Wakandan, that he has taken books on Wakandan history and politics from the palace library, and T’Challa twitches so hard he knocks over his glass of water. 

Isir’s smile is insufferable. 

This may not be a Western fairytale but Barnes still manages to corner T’Challa in the palace gardens, T’Challa cursing the heavy rains that masked Barnes approach. But he is standing in front of T’Challa and looking up at him and T’Challa is a king. He will not run. Especially when he is not sure he could explain why he wants to flee so badly. 

Except perhaps he does know, he thinks as Barnes looks up at him, expression shattered and determined. 

“I heard your voice,” he says, and T’Challa thinks yes. This was what he feared. 

“Thank you,” Barnes says, and T’Challa knows that it has been a long time since someone has surprised him so throughly. 

“What?” He says, and then curses his own inelegance. 

“Thank you. For keeping me company. For your honesty.” 

When they kiss, it is nothing like a fairytale. There is rain dripping from the end of T’Challa’s nose and he can feel the tension in the hand Barn– James places against his face. It is too hard and too fast and T’Challa can feel it all the way down his spine. He grabs James roughly, spinning them and shoving the other man against a tree as he deepens the kiss. 

This is no fairytale, T’Challa thinks, but there is magic in the way James groans and arches against him. And there is promise in the smile that curves James’ lips against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/144020666788/tchucky-prompt-tchalla-doesnt-believe-in)


	10. Made With Love (T'Challa/Bucky)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> anonymous asked:  
> for the t'chucky prompts (if you're still taking them) imagine bucky learning traditional Wakandan dishes to please bae and t'challa is super touched until he tastes it and it's just. god awful. how it ends is up to you

Bucky was never the best cook, not that growing up during the Depression was the best time to learn how to use spices and real ingredients that weren’t half rotten vegetables and the toughest cut of meats. He’d managed to keep himself and Steve alive though, so it wasn’t like he was horrible. On the other hand, brainwashing and assassinations and seventy years pretty much took care of what little skill he had had. 

Watching T’Challa eat though, made Bucky wish he could cook. The way T’Challa savoured the food and the spices, the way he appreciated the effort the cooks took in preparing his meals, thanking them every time. The way he understood food and appreciated it even though it would have been so easy for him not to, growing up a prince and eating at state dinners from childhood. They would stop at street vendors, walking through the streets of the Wakandan capital, T’Challa speaking about his people and culture as he handed Bucky food to try. And the look on T’Challa’s face as he ate food straight from a grill set up on the edge of a dusty street, steaming hot and so spicy it made Bucky’s eyes water, was the same as he had during those state dinners. And he thanked the street vendors with as much warmth and sincerely as he thanked the chefs who cooked for Presidents and royalty. 

It made something warm and happy grow in Bucky’s chest.

When Bucky calls Steve to tell him all this, the other man laughs so hard and long that Bucky ends up just hanging up on him. Steve calls back a couple minutes later, still snickering, and Bucky hangs up on him again. Fuck it, it’s not Steve’s help he really needs anyways, and he heads off in search of Nakia. 

He finds the King’s guard in the mess hall, an appropriate setting he supposes. As he speaks however, her eyes narrow, and Bucky begins to worry that he is about to have his ass beat. When she cooly asks him why he thought she would be a good person to ask, he explains that he honestly didn’t know who else to approach about it, and if she had someone else she could direct him to, he would be happy to talk to them. Her eyes soften at his explanation, and she clasps a companionable hand on his shoulder. 

“Don’t worry Barnes,” she says, English heavily accented. “I will help you.” She adds something else in Wakandan, but just shakes her head when he asks her what she said. Probably something rude then. 

Five hours later, and she isn’t bothering to disguise her rudeness with an unfamiliar language. 

“My god,” she said, staring in horror at the small plate of food she had just sampled, “this is disgusting.” 

“Hey,” Bucky said, and then tried it himself. He spat it back out on the plate. 

“Fuck me,” he said. 

“We’re going to need more help,” Nakia said, face grim. 

Three chefs, two grandmothers, and one busboy later Bucky had produced something that was… well, it at least resembled the dish it was supposed to be. 

“I do not understand how this is possible,” one of the chefs said, looking down at the dish with tears in his eyes, “I watched everything you did, how did this happen?” 

The grandmothers shook their heads sorrowfully. 

Bucky took his single, sad dish back up to his and T’Challa’s quarters, putting it on the table in the front room before slumping down in front of it, staring at it with a furrowed brow. He would have sworn that he was a better cook than this. Or at least that he was teachable. The Soldier probably could cook, he thought bitterly, ignoring the sensible part of him that told him how ridiculous that thought was. 

“What’s that?” The King’s voice from behind him made him jump, spinning in his seat to face the other man. 

“N-nothing,” he stumbled over his words, trying to put his body between T’Challa’s eyes and his failed cooking attempt. 

“Is that ndizi-nyama?” T’Challa asks, eyes alighting with interest, and before Bucky can stop him, he had reached over Bucky and grabbed a bite of the dish, putting it into his mouth with a small smile of anticipation. 

His expression quickly switches to – not one of horror, he is far too much the diplomat for that – but one of quiet, polite neutrality. 

“Hm,” he said, “that’s… hmm.” 

“It’s terrible,” Bucky said. “Don’t worry about it.” He goes to slide the dish into the bin, feeling his face heat with embarrassment and shame. T’Challa grabs his wrist, stopping his motion. 

“Don’t.” He said. 

“It’s awful,” Bucky said, not looking up, “I’m sorry, I thought- it doesn’t matter.”

“You made it for me,” T’Challa said, as perceptive as ever. Bucky doesn’t answer, doesn’t look at him. “Hey,” he said, hooking a finger under Bucky’s chin and tilting his head up. “Thank you,” he said softly, leaning down and pressing a gentle kiss to Bucky’s lips, a kiss that Bucky can’t help but stretch up into. 

“Thank you,” T’Challa repeats gently against Bucky’s lips. He pauses for a minute, before continuing, “but maybe… maybe you stick to things other than cooking.” Bucky can’t help but laugh.

“Yeah I think I’m okay with that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [reblog on tumblr](http://stevesbootyshorts.tumblr.com/post/144065701243/for-the-tchucky-prompts-if-youre-still-taking)


End file.
